Strange Glue
by Jilly-chan
Summary: AU, Harry/Draco. "It was strange glue that held us together, while we both fell apart at the seams." Ch. 1 Harry POV, Ch.2 Draco POV An ongoing experiment. *for Rissah*
1. Strange Glue

Strange Glue  
  
By Jillian  
  
(Disclaimer: This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction and while I was brave enough to try, I did shuffle the characters into an alternate universe this time around. A dark little experiment, this is an Harry/Draco ficlet from Harry's POV. Wrote this as a gift for my friend Rissah. The lyrics are from Catatonia's song "Strange Glue." Enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
It was strange glue that held us together  
  
While we both came apart at the seams  
  
***  
  
I met Draco Malfoy late one evening in the campus library. Apparently, he had been using the facility as it was intended. Papers with heavily scrawled notations spreading out to each far corner of the study table. An opened satchel of papers and texts in one chair, a pile of books in the seat next to him (the top one sitting open and book marked), the wooden chair across from his kicked back as if he'd balanced his feet there until the studying warranted him sitting upright to stretch his arms over the assortment of knowledge and orchestrate it into his brain.  
  
To be honest, I knew Draco Malfoy well already. More exactly, I was caught that night by the almost lunatic gleam in his eyes. Perhaps they were only reflecting the neon lights that buzzed like disturbed mosquitoes through the otherwise silent bog of the library basement. Or it might have been the way his hair had lost it's precision, several strands falling forward like antennae. Each extension of his body deliberately intent on the task before him.  
  
I understood deliberation and intention. I'd only been made captain of the soccer team that year. A junior at the state college who happened to have more trophies with his name engraved in them than any other student at the institution besides my own father. I was Harry Potter. The only peoples as recognizable as myself would be either the red-headed Weasley clan which was working to graduate one offspring after another through the ivy doors or the infamous blond who sat in front of me. The person who had somehow managed to become president representative for our entire class even though the sight of him gave a bad taste in the back of everyone's mouth including some of the staff.  
  
But if you had asked me in that moment what about Draco Malfoy might have been so disagreeable, I'm not quite sure I'd have been able to remember. Because in a passed moment of our first meeting, I thought I had seen him vulnerable.  
  
Nevertheless.  
  
Perhaps I was acting from jealous curiosity.  
  
Perhaps I was the truly vulnerable one that evening.  
  
Because, without knowing one genuinely true thing about the person behind those steeled grey eyes, I yet again became obsessed with wonder. He silently met my eyes long before I realized that he was looking.  
  
"What do you want, Potter?" He asked, wearied by the irritation of any meaningless disturbance. When I didn't answer immediately, his eyelids drooped suspiciously even as his chin lifted, "I'm busy."  
  
"Busy with what?" I asked, curiously tilting my head to one side. The fringe of my hair causing a shadow over my glasses, but I restrained from brushing the obstruction aside.  
  
"Ignoring you, in a moment," Then Draco spun the pencil between his thumb and forefinger, catching it, and scrawling something deep into the paper. Instantaneously distracted.  
  
Ignoring me.  
  
Maybe that's what drew me toward him. Like some base metal always being pulled toward the stationary metallic core.  
  
"What if I wanted to ravish you across this table?" It came out a bit more demanding than I had intended, so when his gaze followed his lifted eyebrow to where I stood over him, he was already smirking.  
  
"I must be bored," Draco clipped the words just as he grabbed my school scarf and dragged me down to his level.  
  
Pretty typical encounter. Typical results.  
  
With all of my bravado about ravishing him, it was how he made me feel that kept bringing me back into what I saw as a game of passions. Time and again, I was the one with his back against the table, scattering papers with algebraic equations and chemical symbols onto the floor with my flaying arms, ripping them with my boots. He bit into my lip as he got his hand into my pants.  
  
Soon all I heard was the ringing in my ears, my racing breath, and the ever- present buzz of his name in the back of my throat.  
  
"Now let me study." He wiped his hand on my jean-clad thigh. A strange light in his eyes as his eyelids lowered lazily, watching as I tried to refocus my vision once more. My mouth was a bit dry and I forced my jaw closed. The table, I realized was quite unforgiving and hard.  
  
He started to pick up the notepaper from where it'd fallen. Never seeing that I'd bitten my own lower lip until it bled, frustrated by his indifference.  
  
***  
  
She said your place or mine  
  
While we've still got the time  
  
And I played along with her schemes  
  
***  
  
Ron wanted me to join the fraternity, but I never did. But for all intents and purposes, I was a brother and I shared Ron's room when he wasn't attempting to entertain. No one ever remembered that I didn't officially belong.  
  
"Where's Ron?" I asked the girl who was leaning in the dark hallway leading back to the bedrooms in the house, one arm twisted up against the wall her head against it. She laughed oddly, which I attributed to the smoking stick of . . . something . . . in her other hand.  
  
"You smell good," She glanced from my unruly hair down my jacket, jeans and boots. The way she sniffled just then, I knew she wasn't smelling anything but the sick sweetness of her drug. She grinned at me unexpectedly, her teeth white and almost pretty in the shadows of the hallway, her black hair tied back except where a few coils fell around her face like some Olympian goddess.  
  
"Yeah, shut up, Blaise," I made a move to go around her.  
  
"Ron's not here." She catches my arm as I move around her.  
  
"Fine." My voice snapped, but I stop rather than pulling her forward with me.  
  
"He's with *her*, you see."  
  
It took me a while, but I understood. Ron might have thought himself a player, but he loyally kept himself for his one girl. Despite the reputations of his older brothers, Ron was haplessly monogamous.  
  
"Don't wait for him then, Blaise."  
  
Her lips curled in disgust even as my comment struck home in the few areas of her consciousness that were still functioning, "You don't look so satisfied yourself . . . Potter." The way she let my last name slide from her tongue thick with a familiar, mocking accent.  
  
"Don't call me that." I stepped into her space, intending to intimidate her. Instead, she curled into herself and giggled sharply.  
  
"Potter. Potter. Potter." She looked up at me from under dark lashes, so different from the silver-blond I had left behind.  
  
"He's the only one who gets to call me that."  
  
Even though I mumbled and the bass music from the main room was vibrating the walls, Blaise heard every word and her eyes widened. I never confessed to anyone. But, then again, neither had she. And we both hated that we couldn't confide our vulnerable desires to those for whom they were intended.  
  
"Potter," Her voice still twisted in such a way to tease. Her fingers gripping a loop of my jeans and she tugged suggestively, "We'll never get what we really want, so . . ."  
  
"No," Then more insisting, I repeated, "No." I turned and went back out the way I came. Until I was halfway from the front door to the street curb. My breath came out in certain clouds of white visible in the streetlamp light. My jacket too light for the decreasing temperatures.  
  
But my thoughts strayed. Remembering how warm I had been for a moment. In the library. When I, Harry Potter, got what I wanted. What I thought I wanted.  
  
"I must be bored."  
  
Staring ahead, I knew that he was still in the library. Reading over papers that I had crumpled and torn. Otherwise as if nothing had happened.  
  
"Now let me study."  
  
What I wanted was for him to want me.  
  
***  
  
And I don't have the right to be with you tonight  
  
So please leave me alone with no savior  
  
I will sleep safe and sound with nobody around me  
  
***  
  
The first time we met had actually been near the end of our sophomore year.  
  
It only made sense that we would meet and recognize each other eventually, but it had been some event that the dean had felt was important for the star pupils of each class to attend. I had been trying to work another finger between my throat and the horrid bowtie I was wearing when I heard Hermione's voice coming from behind me.  
  
"Well, I suppose you have yet to meet Harry then as well."  
  
I turned and saw her first. Hermione's thick brown hair braided back into something that appeared to me like a crown. She was wearing something shimmering of purple that fell from the thin straps over her shoulders and cascaded to her ankles like a waterfall.  
  
"You look beautiful," I said even as I turned to see her companion.  
  
"Why thank you, Potter," His lips had twitched to one corner in what I took as being humor. His grey eyes almost seemed purple like Hermione's dress that evening. I wondered several times that evening why he never adopted my first name.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," Hermione had been amused, but took the compliment for herself as it was intended. "I don't think you've officially met Draco Malfoy. Draco was elected class president for next year."  
  
"Seems like it'll be a bore really, but my father is happy." He had tilted his head forward to study the ground as he mentioned his father. One hand lifting to run his knuckles over his ear and across his smoothed back hair.  
  
"Harry! Hermione!" Then Ron appeared, broad Weasley grin stretching over his freckles and making his eyes sparkle.  
  
"How'd you get invited to this?" I teased, tapping my best friend's shoulder lightly, then ran my fingers along the edge of his suit jacket.  
  
"You look . . . nice . . . Hermione," Ron had tried meeting her eyes, found it easier to study his shoes, looked at me desperately for some rescuing he must have felt he needed after such a comment, and then he saw Draco. A rush of Weasley fury darkened his skin in a rush of red to match his hair. Then he managed to clip out choked syllables, "Malfoy."  
  
"If it isn't Virginia's youngest older brother," The way Draco Malfoy's words dripped leisurely made a normal sentence last an eternity.  
  
"Virginia?" I asked dumbly.  
  
"Ginny." Ron bristled, his fingers curling into fists and his suit jacket folding upward awkwardly as my best friend stiffened his shoulders.  
  
"We parted on good terms if I remember correctly," Draco impressed me with the way he could talk so leisurely and almost kindly while maintaining an aristocratic aloofness to his features. The arrogant set to his cheeks and brow putting the insult into his otherwise harmless words.  
  
Hermione glanced between them, clearly as in the dark as I was, "Let's go see Percy." Hermione suggested, letting her fingers run down Ron's near arm in an uncertain but comforting gesture. Ron managed to uproot his locked knees and went with her. I could almost see his hair standing on end in the back as if attracted to the electricity of furious lightning.  
  
"How many Weasleys can fit into this school at one time?"  
  
After the rhetorical question, Draco had turned back to me amiably enough. "So what is it that you do that makes you so important, Potter?"  
  
I, on the other hand, didn't feel like I could let him free from such an insult on the Weasleys that easily.  
  
It took me a moment to register his question to me and as I gawked at him while processing the ludicrously of not knowing who I was, Draco Malfoy's eyes began to sparkle with something akin to glee.  
  
"A bit too much to process up there at once, Potter?"  
  
The way he kept saying my name like that began to resonate in my ears like a mantra.  
  
I must have taken too long to react, since I spent the rest of the evening following him with my eyes. Plotting what I might have said then, what I might have said next, what I might say if he were to talk to me again. Instead, I munched on tasteless appetizers and listened to Ron vacillate from the latest soccer statistics to various flaws characteristic to all Malfoys.  
  
Each reference reminding me of Draco Malfoy's smirk, set under an otherwise mirthful gaze.  
  
***  
  
When faced with my demons  
  
I clothe them and feed them  
  
And I smile, yes I smile  
  
As they're taking me over  
  
***  
  
Ron would never mention what Ginny's connection to Draco Malfoy might have involved. In fact, I couldn't get Ron to acknowledge any conversation about Draco beyond an unsightly sneer and venomous cursing upon the Malfoy household.  
  
So, I decided to take the opportunity to inquire at the source of the conflict.  
  
Why didn't I simply ask Ginny? Because I was looking for an excuse. I was looking for some reason to approach the blond aristocrat I'd only met in passing before in order to redeem myself. To demonstrate that I could hold my own in a conversation of wit. To win his hardly won respect.  
  
"What did you do with Ginny?" At best, my voice was not shrill.  
  
I had never seen Draco in a situation of relative confidentiality. So when I saw him reading and lounged in a chair of one of the campus study rooms, I had pulled open the door and walked in. With immeasurable patience, he slowly looked up and without any indication of surprise said quietly, "I didn't *do* anything to Virginia."  
  
"There must have been something to upset Ron so much." I shook my head, still standing with my back to the door.  
  
Draco leaned forward in his seat and closing the book he had in his hands, rested his forearms against the table and said simply, "If you asked Viriginia, she would tell you that I accompanied her to a social outing at her request. Nothing more came from it." He then relaxed back into his chair, as if having just finished giving official testimony at his trial. "Why are you so interested in the youngest Weasley, Potter?"  
  
I refused to let him interrogate me, "Why *aren't* you interested in Ginny?"  
  
"She's a nice enough girl," Draco shrugged, "Less disagreeable than the other carrot-top siblings I've met."  
  
"Did you only go out the once?"  
  
"Is that important?"  
  
"Yes." By that point, I was arguing simply to disagree. Hoping something would break the pristine resolve of the collected individual sitting in front of me. Then he stood.  
  
I had never watched Draco so intently as in the last few weeks since I met him officially at the dean's party. Intimately, I knew the roll his shoulders would make as he stood. How he set his chin back stiffly for a moment when walking, to relax it a step later. Absorbed, I almost started at how close he was when he spoke next.  
  
"Potter, the girl asked me to go with her. As a gentleman, I could not refuse." His eyes narrowed, but holding some intensity that offset his curled lip. "But I declined to grant her any other favors, and after receiving my explanation she was content. Would an explanation make you content . . . "  
  
I half expected him to call me by my name as his words trailed off without becoming a certain question. I nodded, once. Stiff from the neck down, it was the only movement I could make because he had captured me so completely. I bit my tongue with frustration.  
  
"It's because: I. Don't. Like. Girls."  
  
And in some strange relief, I felt the tension slip from my limbs.  
  
"So, don't fear. Your 'Ginny' is no more soiled than I found her," Draco turned, but not before I caught his shoulder.  
  
My hand firmly catching the fabric of his shirt. An odd purple-silver that I stared at as I felt a different reaction in my hammering heart, "I wanted to make sure." I wetted my lips, "Wanted to make sure that what I heard . . . was true."  
  
"Why, Potter," His voice sly, "Don't expect that I need someone to defend my honor. I've found honor is more appearance than actuality . . . I can take care of that myself . . ."  
  
"You talk too much," I had seen the gleam in his eye, or it might have just been the reflection of my eyeglasses. Regardless, I decided to shut him up and take his breath into my mouth and lungs.  
  
But all the while, he was stealing mine.  
  
***  
  
And if I cannot sleep  
  
For the secrets I keep  
  
It's the price I'm willing to meet  
  
Oh the end of the night  
  
Never comes too quickly for me  
  
***  
  
"You'll catch cold, moron."  
  
My gaze dropped from the stars that night and somehow Draco had brought his car to idle at the street curb. His car window rolled down, and one arm leaned against the edge the other draped over the steering wheel. Even so, he wasn't looking at me. His profile still ahead on the street.  
  
He must have just been going home from the library right then.  
  
I could feel Blaise's eyes burning holes in my back. If she was there or not, I suddenly felt the temptation of her offer. To take her. She wanted me.  
  
Wanted.  
  
As I stood, starting to really feel the cold, Draco waited.  
  
Waited.  
  
I could never say that we had the healthiest relationship. My shameless quest for attention. And his . . . his built in protection, distance.  
  
But for choosing?  
  
I regarded his profile. Alone. Moonlight and shadows in that car. Distant, but not demanding. Waiting.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"Yes . . ." His voice low. My surname dropped.  
  
I wondered then how many times he said 'Harry' in his own thoughts.  
  
"I. Don't. Like. Girls."  
  
"You talk to much. Get in the car." 


	2. Surrendering

Surrendering  
  
By Jillian  
  
(Disclaimer/Author's Notes: Much thanks to everyone who kindly reviewed "Strange Glue," which was quite an experiment for me. As is this. I never intend to make a series out of this, for fear of creating yet another unfinished epic. Nevertheless, a few ideas are still buzzing between my ears, and I figured a few accompanying short stories to compliment "Strange Glue" might be fun to write. Your encouragement certainly tipped the scales. Characters, not mine. Lyrics, from Alanis Morissette's song of the same title. While the prose is Draco's POV, the lyrics are more comparable to Harry's POV. Enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
so you were in but not entirely  
  
you were up for this but not totally  
  
you knew how arms length-ing can maintain doubt  
  
***  
  
Truth. So many versions of truth can cheapen what is real. Then again, what truth is the comfort and surprise of finding Harry Potter on your couch? His dark hair tousled in such a way that it peeked over the armrest. One of his arms thrown up and over his head. The other settled lightly over his stomach where the shirt he was wearing yesterday pulled up. He found a blanket, but it fell in such a way that the corner only covered his knees while the rest spilled onto the floor. Bare feet propped up on the opposite end. On the couch, he looked so long and innocently boyish.  
  
On the couch, because at some point he slipped away from the crook of my arm. Which was also part of the truth.  
  
I sat in the rocking chair, a gift from my grandmother who delighted in decorating whenever someone would let her. Every corner of my apartment displayed her touch. Of course, this chair was made from the finest woods, finished with detailed designs, and as I pushed back with my feet, it made no sound. So many things I have are perfect.  
  
As I watched Harry breathe between his just open lips, my certainty about the truth slipped.  
  
He was never something I needed.  
  
Not that I hadn't found him amusing.  
  
I could play a pretty convincing role to hide my insecurity, but at that time I knew he'd finally found the distance still between us. That was why he was on the couch. Protecting himself. And it was bloody well time that he started, since he spent so much of his time protecting other people. Even, to some small measure, protecting me. Which was damn funny.  
  
Being a Malfoy brought with it certain expectations. We did not appear in public less than perfectly groomed, we did not speak unless with the most proper wit, we did not need protecting because we were impeccably beyond reproach and we did not intimately bond with anyone. Of course, Malfoys are not well-liked but intricately necessary. I remembered my father saying, "There is no need to be a leader, Draco. Choose significance over prominence. What is significant is to become the one person they cannot do without. That is true power. That is how you truly conquer."  
  
So no matter how much he may come to hate you, he'll never be able to let you go.  
  
Which is why Harry stopped at my couch, instead of fleeing to his own bed. I've learned the lesson too well. It's in my blood.  
  
As I rocked, watching him, I couldn't grasp what the pressure in my chest might be called. Disappointment in some measure that my father always had to be right. Harry would never leave and would always be in some measure expecting me, needing me.  
  
The whole truth, however. When I watched his dark lashes flutter then open, the truth was that I feared he might in turn over power me with his significance. Because I had followed him this far, afraid. Afraid when I'd found he had gone from my bed that morning that he might have left completely.  
  
***  
  
you found creative ways to distance  
  
you hid away from much through humor  
  
your choice of armor was your intellect  
  
***  
  
Hermione Granger kindly introduced me to Harry the night that the dean entertained the campus trustees. I had been watching the young soccer captain for a while, however. Representing our class as president inclined me to know all that my peers were accomplishing. Not so much seeking out rivals as evaluating them, learning their weakness and exploiting them to advance myself. I was president because it was infeasible for them to want anyone else in that place.  
  
If I had met Harry before I might have needed to state my authority more directly. It's in Harry Potter's obtuse nature to only recognize threats punctuated with a rolling pin. But the way I found his eyes always following me, lost in thought, unaware if I stared back--I knew that no effort was required.  
  
Harry Potter wanted me because it was, again, infeasible for him to want anyone else.  
  
I accepted his advances, because I was bored. And he was all too willing. Charmingly attractive.  
  
Since it was understood that some power rests in my hands, only the very courageous, very naïve or very stupid move toward me with romantic intentions. Truthfully, I'm uncomfortable with intimacy. This is fortunately a very easy thing to hide when those that approach you are relatively terrified of rejection. Or blissfully content with small things.  
  
Virginia Weasley, for example, entertained me pleasantly enough. Asking only that I smile at her fondly and let her hold my arm for an evening. She also served me as an adequate shield from my preferred dalliances. Consequently, I flirted with her twin brothers or the other fellows who approached me to kill time. But they knew my rules, I did not give any control over to them.  
  
Harry was different.  
  
I remember when he found the courage to wait for me after class. About a week after he'd first confronted me over his concerns for 'Ginny.' When he had first kissed me.  
  
His eyes had difficulty staying in one place, shifting as he stumbled over words haphazardly trying to form sentences. I waited patiently, lifting my eyebrows in amazement at what he was trying not to say and yet desperately trying to get across.  
  
"The soccer match tonight should be rather exciting, not that they stand much of a chance against our team this year," His eyes met mine in a moment of green, and then slowly lowered down my jacket and legs and then to one side. "I heard that you used to play . . ."  
  
I did play soccer once. I loved it. I also knew better than to do anything that I loved.  
  
"Your point, Potter?" I asked impatiently. Smirking in satisfaction as I got him to shift his book bag, replace his weight to the other side. I took a step toward him and noticed the bob of his Adam's apple. Seducing him was all too easy. Every time I saw him, he was asking for me to bring him off. He didn't care where. He didn't care when.  
  
Taking the end of his scarf like a leash, I could lead him anywhere and he'd follow. A hand on his shoulder and I could back him against the bathroom wall without effort. My mouth against him got him to shut up, except for the deep-throated moan when I touched him. He would close his eyes, tilting his chin up and I put my fingers through his hair. Cushioning his head from the cinder block wall as he lost control. Watching as every thoughtless movement I made only seemed to please him more. It was too easy.  
  
Watching as his temperature turned his neck red and his cheeks a pink glow. Feeling his hair knotting into my fingers like live threads threatening to entangle me to him forever. His speechless lips trembling, open.  
  
All because I had my hands on him.  
  
Or would any hands do?  
  
Possessively, I had pressed up against him. Pulling his lower lip with my teeth.  
  
Some of his senses must have returned then, because I had felt him pull his arms away from the wall where he'd pressed his palms for balance. He started kissing back as those arms wrapped around me like chains and his fingers started working underneath the fabric of my shirt as if fixing the lock. Then his touch strayed toward the button of my jeans.  
  
I watched him as his lips formed my name, "Draco." The emotion in his tone unlike any that I'd heard before. He had opened his eyes and caught mine. I pulled back.  
  
"Good luck at the game," I said coolly, heart pounding. Moving away so that he couldn't touch me anymore. Standing tall myself, I took in his breathless condition. His chest heaving in such a way that his shirt fell down to cover the parts of him that I had exposed. I had done that to him. I had caused his every reaction.  
  
But he had done something to me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I actively, purposefully, controlled every step I made of my escape. Pressing my lips together, I appeared collected in the neon light, but an unfamiliar fear lingered in my eyes.  
  
Harry didn't play by rules. He played by feelings.  
  
***  
  
and so you felt and you're still here  
  
and so you died and you're still standing  
  
and so you softened and still safely in command  
  
***  
  
Harry isn't beyond learning rules. He learned them when he wanted to. Soccer, for example. Passion and talent put him above the others, but he fine-tuned his wildness with respect for the game.  
  
I watched him play against opponents that didn't mind skirting the rules or taking advantage by making fouls. Of course, his integrity faithfully took him farther. Each game he won with his pride intact. The poster boy for righteousness. He could boast of being the best within the established guidelines. Although, Harry never boasted.  
  
I used to avoid the campus games, finding them juvenile. Or hating them because it was something I had given up. Watching Harry play was strangely satisfying however. His well placed footing making him look rather graceful on the field as he carried his team from the offensive end. I suppose I wasn't really watching the game as much as the captain. Everyone watched Harry, but I was the only one who knew what else could turn his cheeks as red as when they were wind-burned.  
  
Harry learned that catching me alone typically ended in some sort of sexual satisfaction. He learned that if he wanted to be touched, he only had to come to me and ask. Unearned. Unreciprocated. Which perplexed him to no end.  
  
But while the month passed, I marveled at how he came to me time and again. I gave him nothing that he typically looked for. Friendship he had aplenty. Ron Weasley was around to slap him heartily on the back and boost Harry's masculine ego. Hermione Granger, while her interests obviously leaned toward the red-headed half of their three-some, was never far from giving him intellectual conversation. Beyond their three-some was the endless fraternity of companions, the loyal respect of his teammates, and the earned admiration of the university staff.  
  
As far as finding an outlet for his youthful desires, Harry Potter could have shagged any girl on campus. Or found a number of guys also willing.  
  
I knew from overheard conversation that half of the upperclassmen on the soccer team doubted their steadfast heterosexuality since Harry came on board. I knew with some certainty that the Weasley twins wouldn't have let a practice go without making some overt comment to tease their captain.  
  
I wondered if he accepted my rules to see how far he could get. Trying to mold our encounters so they were fine-tuned like the rules of his beloved soccer. No fouling. Then he'd end the experiment and go back to some docile, frail female thing. Or, if he had half a brain, someone partially endowed with an independent thought and who would really care for him, like Virginia.  
  
I wondered if losing his father at such a young age inclined him to prefer a male lover. Otherwise, I could find no other reason for our recurring rendezvous because, for all intents and purposes, Harry Potter was the most conventional do-gooder I'd ever met.  
  
But Malfoys leave no room for alternatives. He came back to me because I knew that nothing else would satisfy him or his curiosity. Until I finished with him.  
  
***  
  
and so you called and courted fiercely  
  
so you reached out entirely fearless  
  
and yet you knew of reservation and how it serves  
  
***  
  
So the affair continued. At times, I found his behavior comfortably reliable. Other times, irritably inconvenient. We adopted an appearance of indifference, broken only in moments of absolute isolation. Yet, Harry had taken to sitting behind me in class and following me out afterward. Never speaking, but gradually testing the limits of my unspoken boundaries.  
  
I overheard that Harry had asked Ron not to speak of "Draco Malfoy" if all he had to say was insulting. While I had to smirk at the reaction Ron Weasley must have had, I also felt the need to reinforce my personal space. I did not have friends and I did not need them. I fell into my studies. Ignoring the obvious places where Harry might go. Withdrawing from all but the necessary social obligations.  
  
Did wonders for my grade point average.  
  
It was only a matter of time before he found me. When it happened, I was unprepared. Studying in the library basement, the last place one would ever expect Harry Potter. It was so late that even the last of the academically inclined students had left several minutes before. I lifted my eyes to see Harry.  
  
He was watching me with his characteristic ability for not seeing anything. It was how he did most of his studying. Staring, without anything really going in. Not that he was a dullard as much as he was absent-minded. Reflecting on too many things. Hidden intelligence behind a blank stare.  
  
"What do you want, Potter? I'm busy."  
  
"Busy with what?" His hair hid him with initial bashfulness. I was continually surprised by how he slipped from security to insecurity and back again. A natural leader, able to command. And yet, he offered me his hesitancy.  
  
"Ignoring you, in a moment." I waited a heartbeat, then turned back to my studies. Even though I knew he wouldn't leave. He let me appear in control, but his patient assertiveness could unravel my superficial resolve.  
  
"What if I wanted to ravish you across this table?" I hated his enchanting threat to ravish me. If he had truly asked, I was entirely at his mercy.  
  
I knew I had to get rid of him fast and more quickly each time, before he made me want him. Before he made me reveal myself.  
  
But again, he followed my rules. Let me lead.  
  
If he had any idea how much I marvel at his responses. I wanted to sob at how painfully and thoroughly he aroused such a feeling of pleasure in me. Simply by looking at him. Simply by making him happy. How he satisfied me by the way he whispered my name. He didn't even have to touch me to break into my soul.  
  
I couldn't let him touch me. But, for just a moment, I didn't feel as lonely.  
  
I was terrified all the same. "Now let me study," I said, pulling every fiber of resolve from my spirit to keep my voice level. I wiped my hand on his pants to protect myself. I did not care. I couldn't care or I would be lost.  
  
I was in the library. The damn library. And I couldn't refuse him.  
  
I started to pick up the papers we'd scattered off the table in our rush. As I tried to hurry him on his way, tried to protect myself, and, failing in that, tried to keep him from noticing that I wanted him and wanted him to stay.  
  
When I was alone at last, I started to breathe again. I could still smell him. I started to study again but my eyes were swimming over equations that had been wrinkled by what I had done with Harry. I could feel the lingering effect he had on my body. He was everywhere. I collapsed my head into folded arms and stared at the small enclosure of darkness I created on the table. But it wasn't enough to keep from hearing his voice over and over again.  
  
I broke my own rules.  
  
In the difference of a moment, I started throwing things into my bag. Leaving the mountain of books for others to put away, I realized my hands were quivering with the intent behind them. I was going to follow him.  
  
I was going against everything I had built to protect myself. Each staggered footstep resounding into the night as I stepped out into the contrasting chill of the brisk evening. I fumbled for my keys on the way to the parking lot. Hitting the roof of my car so that I could feel the pain in my palm. Momentarily distracting, but not for long. I kept feeling waves of regret. Remembering how I'd given to him, taken from him, over and over again without explaining myself. Without accepting what was the truth. Without being able to tell him, show him, how I felt.  
  
Take a chance. Take a chance.  
  
And while I didn't fear that he'd reject me. I feared what I was willing to lose. In order to keep him for myself. Even if for one night. Not to be alone.  
  
***  
  
and I support you in your trusting  
  
and I commend you for your wisdom  
  
and I'm amazed by your surrender in the face of threatening forces  
  
that I represent  
  
***  
  
His eyes, pale green, watched me as I rocked with the attempt of appearing nonchalant. His stare disarming and familiar, but it was the thought behind it that I waited to hear.  
  
Truthfully, everything in my apartment was perfect. Everything I collected was perfect. Harry, was perfect.  
  
Everything he had done the night before had been perfect.  
  
I was the only one out of sorts. I was the one who collected perfect things to hide inner imperfections. I was the one waiting to hear his first words. To know what I had damaged. What I had lost. Breaking my own rules. Breaking myself.  
  
He sat up, looking away. Unreadable but fluid emotions crossed his features. Small frowns. He rubbed his nose. Glancing around at the unfamiliar setting. Patting the couch with one hand. The blanket fell to the floor completely.  
  
"I-I," His voice cracked for lack of use. Thick with the morning.  
  
I stopped moving. My feet flat on the floor. I was fully dressed. I wondered, while he bashfully glanced at me once then twice, if he was remembering what he'd seen, what he had done when I let him under these clothes. What I had heedlessly said while I tried to memorize his every touch, taste, and expression as if knowing they were the first and the last, while being inevitably lost in them. I wondered if he knew that I hadn't dared to hope that he'd still be there, and when I woke up did he know of my fear when he wasn't.  
  
I wondered if he knew. That he was the one significant thing that I couldn't do without.  
  
I wondered if he knew my silence was because he was the one significant thing that I couldn't ask for.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
I watched his lips form words as if he were speaking a different language. His features, so obviously emotional to everyone else, still seemed a mystery to me. I didn't understand.  
  
"Would you like a shower?" I asked with precise syllables. Dumbly trying to find what to say. Not knowing the rules of this morning after game since he, in this case, was Harry. Which made all the difference.  
  
He pulled out the front of his shirt, then let it settle back.  
  
"I'll take care of that at home, I guess." He stood, the long limbs upright. He looked around for and started collecting the rest of his clothes. The jacket he'd eagerly shrugged off. The shoes that he'd stumbled over in his hurry to my bedroom.  
  
Anything in my apartment that pooled into messiness was his doing from the night before.  
  
"Do you need a ride back?"  
  
"No, I'll walk. It's not far."  
  
His coat put on, and he moved for the door. The silence empty between us. Neither of us saying anything.  
  
I didn't know what to say.  
  
At last, I got up to let him out, but Harry pulled open the door for himself stepping past me. Taking the initiative. Then a peculiar spark seemed to pass between us in his final stare. He lifted one finger to his lips.  
  
"Shh." His voice unexpectedly carefree. A fleeting mischievous smile. "I won't tell."  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
***  
  
self-protection was in times of true danger  
  
your best defense to mistrust and be wary  
  
surrendering a feat of unequalled measure  
  
and I'm trilled to let you in  
  
overjoyed to be let in in kind.  
  
*** 


	3. Solitary Romance

Solitary Romance  
  
By Jillian  
  
(Disclaimer: Of course, I have no claim on the characters of Harry Potter & Co. I don't normally write HP fics, but, for my friend Rissah, I did indulge with this thread of short stories. This particular one is narrated by Ginny. Enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
Even though my toes were numb and my limbs felt soaked simply from sitting in the heavy mist, I never missed an opportunity to watch the soccer team practice.  
  
Ron would come with me sometimes, sitting back in the bleachers so that his elbows rested on a row behind him for balance. He'd watch the team warm up and then skirmish a bit. Now and again the coach calling out to one player or another. Commending. Scolding.  
  
I didn't really watch much of the practice itself. Usually going out with my sketchbook and doodling some outline for my art projects. Mom and Dad had been pretty understanding about the sudden switch from being a Political Science major to Art History/Studio. Well, they found understanding after I mentioned I could work in a museum. That seemed to be a satisfactory answer to give relatives when they asked what the youngest Weasley had in mind for her future.  
  
After having so many older brothers, being the only daughter made them all a bit curious. No one knew quite what to make of me. I was small and rather invisible for years--then as a freshman speaking up with rather unpopular opinions, a collection of picketing signs and a brief phase of vegetarianism. Only to settle back again with dark rimmed glasses rather than contacts, a calmed philosophic spirit, and an incredible dislike of taking showers too often. College was great for finding one's self, not that everyone found their paths the same way.  
  
I wiped the glasses off on the corner of my jacket sleeve. The periodic drizzle finally forced me to put away my art book and I had crawled into the visiting team's bench area to keep as dry as possible. And to watch.  
  
Observation was something I picked up strongly. With six older brothers to tease and torture their beloved little sister, one learned to be a little wary. To fine-tune the senses. To know if it was Fred you were talking with and George that was sneaking up behind.  
  
Or in more pleasant circumstances, one could observe the strong, limber movements of the soccer captain. One Harry Potter who would toss his wild dark hair so that droplets of water would spray outward. His grey practice uniform would cling to his square shoulders. Long, muscular thighs and calves. Because he was my brother's best friend, I had many opportunities to admire Harry up close, but I still liked to watch him while he was unaware, especially in some friendly physical conflict. I watched from on the stands, below the stands, behind the field fence, or in the soccer field dugout.  
  
Most of the other boys had grabbed their gear and headed back to the campus or their own rooms. The practice field was a good block from the academic buildings and part way to the campus apartments. I stopped as often as I did because the field just happened to be on my way home from class. Too convenient.  
  
The grey mist carried on the chill wind like tiny kisses. My hair sticking to my cheek, and I pushed it back, still leaning against the pole supporting the makeshift roof over my head. The atmosphere was thin grey like the clouds that had overshadowed the entire practice. Harry also had seemed a bit grey chasing after the wayward ball with his unique jog (like he had a coiled spring in his heels--an untapped energy vibrating from him). He was alone on the field in a moment. Fred and George leaving their captain only after giving him a teasing chase and affectionate batting on each shoulder.  
  
I stepped out to speak with Harry, but no sooner had I put one foot forward- -I saw I wasn't the only person watching Harry.  
  
Taking the step back and sliding further into the shadows, I found my breath quickening a bit. I hadn't thought about *him* in months, but even then, whenever I might have caught a glimpse of him in the library or driving around campus in that spoiled-boy car of his-Draco Malfoy still unsettled me.  
  
I glanced toward Harry who was casually dribbling the ball up and down the field, but my thoughts were whirling around the pale blond who was just feet away and around the corner of the shelter's far wall.  
  
***  
  
Obligated to go to a social gathering because of my father's job, I had decided rather than throwing a tantrum that I would invite a date so irritating to my family that they'd never make me go again. I had known exactly who to ask and felt no reservations for using him in that way. In fact, I had been looking for the excuse.  
  
Every rebellious girl wanted an equal partner. The obvious choice, Draco Malfoy.  
  
He had been in my brother's class and, more than most loners, Draco was naturally magnetic. Aloof, well-dressed, intelligent and rich. On top of that, he frequently attended meetings for the community service oriented fraternities, and I'd seen him recycle more than once--those of course being his most enticing attributes to me, right after his elegant eyebrows, rare but haughty smile and fabulous ass in tight jeans. The same jeans he had been wearing while hosting one of the many national debates on our campus. He knew on many levels how to attract a crowd. Quite the rebel, I knew not only the reputation of Draco but also the animosity between our fathers could only spur my desired response.  
  
And there was the wee fact that I didn't half mind and rather fancied Draco himself.  
  
Even as I stared out into the grey field, I could still remember the image of Draco burned into my eyes the exact moment I saw him. Blond hair pale enough, but almost like sunshine in contrast to the late afternoon shades of grey. An expensive coat cut long so that his legs appeared as two slender, jeans clad stems rooted with dark boots. But while his attire was characteristic to Draco, I was a bit perplexed by his posture. He had been leaning. Watching, not unlike myself. Steadily absorbing the view of the practice field. And Harry Potter.  
  
My heart fluttered a bit, almost unnoticed while my thoughts raced to appropriately discern Draco's presence. Curious if it had to do with the reason why my interest and the interest of any female was unable to catch the attention of Draco Malfoy.  
  
His words echoed into my memory like the sound of thunder from a far off storm. "I. Don't. Like. Girls."  
  
That day I was a smart girl. I settled for Draco's hard won approval and withdrew my desire to capture something else, like Draco's heart. Immediately afterward, I re-evaluated my life and found my own self- assurance lacking. That's when I started living for myself. Taking classes that genuinely interested me. Doing what I really wanted to do. Coupling my uniqueness with my inherent Weasley-ness. That was when I wondered if I might find a better match in something opposite from Draco. In a decent, ordinary fellow. Someone like Harry Potter.  
  
Harry Potter who had stopped moving, one foot balanced without care on the checkered ball. Even at the distance, I knew his eyes weren't on me. He hadn't seen me at all.  
  
"Well," Harry called, sounding amiable enough with a brisk touch of challenge, "Are you going to come play or just watch?"  
  
I had a funny feeling like my lungs were breathing out a response but my throat caught it back, just as my ears picked up on a long unheard drawl replying, while Draco walked out to meet him.  
  
"Only if you're ready to lose, Potter."  
  
***  
  
Harry pushed the ball forward to greet Draco, who caught it nimbly with his designer shoe. Draco's dark form a sophisticated contrast to Harry's sweat soaked grey T-shirt and faded dark red shorts. Snatches of their conversation rocketed back to me on the wind that was picking up sharply. The previously imagined thunder while still distant rolled in with more ominous certainty.  
  
" . . . don't mind . . . getting dirty . . ." Harry's final comments before their words were too soft to hear. I wrapped my hands against the sides of the pole in the entryway to the shelter. Hiding behind it, using it to support me, but letting my eyes slip around to one side. Observing.  
  
They were immediately and completely fixated on each other.  
  
I watched them jog around each other and pass the ball with a peculiar consideration for sharing. Polite, subtly nervous body language. I decided that as obvious as it was I hadn't taken in the full meaning of Draco's admission to me that night. While in one form negative, the positive might also be true.  
  
"I. Like. Boys."  
  
Fred and George had cautioned me first. After announcing that I was seeing Draco Malfoy and he was my date for the following banquet, the twins had sputtered and coughed about "switched teams" and "not-bloody-likeliness." Ron had managed to set off a few of his own fireworks about Draco's sexuality; although, I wouldn't imagine his were as well-informed as meant to be insulting. My parents had managed to share a disapproving-or rather disappointed--look, but, long ago, they had adopted the policy that they would love their children through anything. I suppose they wouldn't have given me any different reaction if I had said I was going to the banquet with Blaise Zambini.  
  
But Harry? That was a bit of a surprise. Harry didn't seem Draco's sort.  
  
But then again, who wouldn't be enchanted with Harry? The oaf was fully worthy of being gawked at, I did it often enough. His physique stunning in even the hideous wardrobe that Harry boyishly refused to replace after high school. His hair curling out at the ends and around his neck.  
  
Lost in thought, I missed the transition, but Harry's footwork turned aggressive. He usually played a defensive spot during the games. His defense succeeding because he had no hesitation about spiriting away the ball with his quick reflexes and putting his team back into the position to score. His hand reached out just then, grasping onto Draco's coat sleeve.  
  
Foul, I thought. Although, without a referee to harness their play, Harry didn't let go.  
  
They pulled apart, Draco putting on a burst of speed and heading toward the near goal. I could see the spread of his lips as they came back my direction, and, with a start, I realized Draco was smiling.  
  
Harry caught up immediately, his footing better on the turf. Nevertheless, his desperate attempt to win back the ball ended in a tangle of legs. Then both went down into the mud. Draco's expensive coat sandwiched between Harry and the earth, obviously splattered with much light brown topsoil. The sight of which bothered me more than what happened next.  
  
They were breathing with open mouths, seemingly winded. When Harry wrapped his hand behind Draco's neck, pushing forward to take a very long kiss.  
  
***  
  
Some moments catch us off guard and we're never able to see the world the same way again. It happened when I realized that my parents still had sex. It happened again when I realized that most causes had some legitimate point even when they were in disagreement with my own. It happened when most admirable Hermione Granger told me that she loved my darling but idiot brother. It happened when one of my peas fell off my plate and had attached itself to a bit of carpet fuzz before I picked it up again.  
  
Ever since that dreary day after watching Harry briefly grope, caress and kiss Draco Malfoy, I watched them both with incredible curiosity. No one knew. No one could know. They wouldn't allow it.  
  
But I knew.  
  
Harry had leaned back on his knees, still straddling Draco who looked rosy but agitated against the damp grass and mud. The hand Harry had offered balanced out with an aura of obligation, the moment between them passed and the supporting pull hadn't carried the slightest delicacy of consideration. A distance grew afterward, Draco pulling off his coat and examining it with a nasally whine followed by some arrogantly lilted complaint. Harry shrugged, waving Draco along without looking to see if he'd follow. Draco hesitating a moment and I saw them walk as far as the gateway out of the practice field. Draco followed roughly ten feet behind the entire way. Even though, they had seemed friendlier while they were having their playful soccer competition.  
  
One day later, wandering through the halls of the English building on the way to a random philosophy class abandoned there, I had seen Draco lounged in one of the cushioned chairs, his feet propped up on the sill of the window. The early winter sunshine falling onto him with a contrasting glow of warmth. He didn't even look up as I passed, he was so absorbed in the text. His chin tucked in and his lips casually pursed. Most always when I saw him, he was alone like that. Occupied, at ease, and thereby not lacking company. Still, alone.  
  
I continued toward the stairwell. Upon which I passed Harry, who grinned at me with his lopsided way and mobile thin lips.  
  
"Hiya, Ginny." His tone no different than the brotherly affection oozed by any one of my siblings. But the indifference didn't bother me any longer.  
  
"Hi, Harry." I nodded, not certain if I had anything more to say to him. Not being the biggest conversationalist, I liked to intuit situations from observation, the movement of the his lips rather than the words, the movement of his arms indicating comfort or hurry, the shift of his weight moving forward or back. I pushed my glasses back up my nose while pulling the loose strands of my hair behind my ear. Harry subconsciously mimicked me pushing up on his own glasses. He was distracted, his tongue just noticeably tracing his upper teeth.  
  
I wondered if he knew who he would find sitting in the sunlight if he followed up the next few steps.  
  
If he did, that probably was also the reason why Harry was alone just then.  
  
Harry had his own magnetism, so he naturally drew people to him, loyally bonded with them, and kept them. My brother, Ron, was the perfect example of someone enchanted by Harry Potter. Likewise, Harry depended on the attention and presence of others-whether by playing soccer or otherwise like choosing his major because Ron had, taking his classes because Ron did, picking his friends because Ron had.  
  
Now I've seen Harry alone on multiple occasions . . . no, not alone. Seeking out, watching for, waiting with, stealing kisses from-Draco Malfoy. A new, different codependency for Harry. Perhaps the first thing that Harry had sought out, pursued, all by himself.  
  
Harry skipped the last steps onto the landing and I heard a low murmur from Harry's throat. A moment later, I should have been at the bottom of the stairs. Instead, through the railing and even at my low angle, I turned and was able to see a pale hand reach up and grasp Harry's scarf, pulling the dark head out of sight behind the high backed chair.  
  
***  
  
The stars were out inspiring a naivety in my spirit, and I was foolishly walking alone across campus in the evening. Head back, ogling Orion's belt and trying to find the Big Dipper. Brisk air filtered in and out of my lungs in deep breaths, so I didn't hear him until Draco was right next to me.  
  
"Cute, Virginia," He chuckled. I set my head back normally, shifting my heavy book bag, so that I could watch him properly. I liked how he used my full name. From our first meeting, Draco chose to call me by my proper name and still managed to convey his own unique affection in the infrequently used syllables. "Some talent you have walking straight with your head in the sky. Learn that from Potter?"  
  
I blinked, the direction of Draco's conversation obvious. He matched my slower pace, hands in the pockets of a different designer coat than the one he'd worn to play soccer. I noticed that walking on my left side, he'd blocked a bit of the evening wind, "Hello, Draco." I said simply.  
  
In profile, his lips pull back in a mirthless smile, "It's not safe to walk out here on your own. You know that."  
  
"You're right." I nodded, something he could only see in peripheral. I was struck by his sudden shyness. Remembering how he only practiced silence in his solitude, always having something witty to say before. I invited him to speak, "I suppose I'm used to walking around on my own at home that I don't think about it here." A pause, then, I laughed softly, "I can't stand the campus shuttle."  
  
"There's the truth," Draco said with a tone of disapproval and turned to me, his face half shadow with the arches of his forehead and jaw highlighted now and again by the streetlights we passed.  
  
When Draco agreed to accompany me to the banquet, we had caused quite a stir. We talked loudly at the appetizer's table, telling rather crude jokes and sophisticatedly disrespecting out elders. He must have known why I had invited him of all people to come with me. Both of us fueled the other's inner desire to cause a scene, and succeeded marvelously, outshining even the disruptive twins. I had loved that feeling; so different from what they expected Ginny Weasley to be like. In turn, so different from the real Ginny Weasley. So different from the real us.  
  
I'm the girl who doesn't say anything and walks alone on campus with her eyes on the stars.  
  
And if that's who I am. Then Draco might have a true gentleness hidden as well.  
  
We passed the practice field, and I glanced over to where the lights had been switched on to flood the area with unnatural brightness. I easily spotted the red-heads of my twin brothers. Somewhere in the tangle was the captain, the person that Draco found so alluring.  
  
"I suppose you're wanting to stop off here." I said pointedly.  
  
"Not unless there's someone you're interested in."  
  
While I don't sense any rivalry in him, I wondered if he knew that I once had watched Harry like he did.  
  
"Not me." I said, emphasizing the pronoun. The next words came from my lips in a whisper. "I know." I wanted him to know his secret didn't have to be a solitary one.  
  
"And what's that make you?" His drawl a way of building personal defenses, "My secret keeper? I should make sure you get home safely then." Sarcasm light but present.  
  
However, I saw relief relax his shoulders. His arms started swinging by his sides comfortably. His pace, while polite, brightened. The corners of his lips stopped sloping downward, as he spoke again,  
  
"I can always stop by on my way back."  
  
While that finalized our understanding, no one else, to my knowledge, would know about his affection. No one else would observe any difference in Draco Malfoy. Who else would believe this?  
  
Now and again, on my way to philosophy class in the English building, Draco will look up from his studying place in that high backed chair as I pass him and he winks. 


End file.
